Thrawn's Daughter
by chris steel
Summary: 10 years after the Imperial Treaty with the New Republic. Thrawn has a daughter. He's alive after all and she finds him
1. Nihre Finds Out

Nihre had only been home from her last class for five minutes when the annunciator announced a guest. Abandoning her half-eaten sandwich in the kitchen area, she crossed her small apartment and cued the door open.  
  
The young man standing in her doorway was only a few years older than her and nobody she had ever seen before. He was an Imperial, though, dressed in the uniform of a Remnant lieutenant. What an Imperial was doing at her apartment was a mystery.  
  
"Hello," she said, making it sound like a question. "Can I help you?"  
  
"Are you Nihre Nuruodo?"  
  
Only humans insisted on calling her by her family name, using it like a human surname. Of course, Nihre Nuruodo was easier to pronounce than Ralan'ihre'nuruodo. If giving her a second name made them feel better, she rarely argued it. So she nodded politely. "And you are?"  
  
"Lieutenant Vik Parck with Remnant Naval Intelligence," he said, showing her his ID. When she nodded, he held out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."  
  
A little bemused, she shook his hand. "What business does Naval Intelligence have with me?"  
  
"That's complicated, ma'am. If you don't mind, I'd like to come in and speak with you privately."  
  
She could imagine Grandfather's response to that request. Grandfather had done his level best to keep her away from Imperials. She couldn't blame him— over the years, they had been xenophobic, tyrannical, and just overall awful. Ralborn's new Empire was a manifestation of those traits, at least in her eyes. But Pellaeon's Remnant seemed better, and so she hadn't moved away when Trellis had petitioned for membership to the Remnant. She hadn't had cause to regret that yet. In fact, she was glad— she didn't want to see Ralborn's influence spreading, and thanks to the peace treaty with the New Republic ten years ago, only the Remnant was interested in fighting the newly risen dictator. Maybe Grandfather wouldn't mind so much.  
  
"Come in," she said to Lt. Parck, stepping out of the doorway. "Have a seat."  
  
Parck walked in and followed her to the living area. They each took a chair, and Nihre leaned back to listen. Parck studied her in silence for several beats, and then said, "You do resemble him."  
  
"Who do I resemble?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. He was clearly searching for a response, but she was not sure just what she was supposed to respond to.  
  
"Your father," he said, as if surprised she hadn't guessed immediately.  
  
She blinked involuntarily. "My father? You knew my father?"  
  
"Well, not personally," he said with a brief laugh. "I was just a kid when he died, after all. But I've seen holos, and you do look like him."  
  
She generally tried not to stare at people; her glowing red eyes tended to make most sentient beings nervous. She was staring at Parck, though, no idea what to think, and her eyes didn't seem to bother him.  
  
Finally, Parck said, "All right. You didn't know NI knew who you were?"  
  
"No," she said, a little on the annoyed side. "I did not know Naval Intelligence knows who I am. Nor do I know why you should."  
  
It was Lieutenant Parck's turn to be surprised. Looking incredulous, he said, "NI wouldn't wipe you out of the records just because he died. We keep files of everyone who might be of interest someday."  
  
"And you think I may be of interest someday because of my. . . father."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"But. . . how did you know? My father's name isn't on my record, or my mother's, or the hospital records— nobody knows who my father is."  
  
"His name may not be on your record, but your name is on his," Parck said. "How do you think we found you?"  
  
Nihre had done a complete search over the years for any record with her name on it, but the only references she had found were on Mother's, or Grandfather's. Until now, she had assumed that he hadn't claimed her, and Mother didn't want to name him. Perhaps she didn't know who he was. But suddenly, a different explanation hit her. Could it be a classified file she didn't have access to?  
  
"I don't know, Lieutenant," she said, trying her best not to sound overly eager. "When I say nobody knows. . . I mean nobody knows. My mother died when I was young. If my Grandfather knew his identity, he denied it." She swallowed back a bad taste at the almost-solved mystery. Maybe this explained why Grandfather detested the Empire. "He was an Imperial, then. From Naval Intelligence?"  
  
Parck didn't answer immediately. Rubbing his neck awkwardly, he said, "Oh, boy. I wasn't ready for this." At her impatient look, he said, "An Imperial, yes, but not from Intel." He pulled a datacard from his breast pocket. "Here. His record's on here."  
  
Feeling numb, she took the card of stiff flimsiplast. A datapad rested on the table at her side, and she reached for it. Sliding the card in, she cued it up.  
  
There were several names on the menu. Hers, Mother's, Grandfather's. . . "This is a joke, isn't it," she said with a scowl, dropping the datapad onto the entertainment table. "Get out, Lieutenant."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Grand Admiral Thrawn is not my father." Her voice was getting loud, but she couldn't help it. Grandfather had always said she was much more emotional that the average Chiss, which he blamed on her being raised in a predominantly human society. But Nihre had no way of telling for sure— Grandfather was the only Chiss she had ever really known.   
  
Parck looked freshly startled. Drawing a breath, he said, "May I explain myself?"  
  
She could feel herself flushing at her brief outburst. But not even her automatic denial kept her brain from making connections. This name they gave him, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, had the same family root as her own name, though that didn't necessarily mean they were related. Grandfather would never want her to know that her father was an Imperial, let alone a Grand Admiral; he probably thought she would try to follow in his footsteps if she knew. Maybe she would have.  
  
The Imperial was still waiting for her answer. Picking the datapad back up, she said, "An explanation isn't necessary." She called up the Grand Admiral's file, a file she never would have been able to access.  
  
There was a holo there, and Parck had been correct. She did resemble him. Not just racially, though they shared the same blue skin, red eyes, and jet black hair. Even wanting to deny it, she knew Parck was telling to truth. His features were more masculine than her own, but otherwise, she resembled this picture of Grand Admiral Thrawn more than she resembled the holo of her mother.  
  
Knowing what she would find, she nevertheless scrolled down through the file just far enough to find the 'offspring' heading. Beneath it, she saw her name, her birthday, the address of her old home with Grandfather. Grandfather was listed as her guardian.  
  
She touched the power button and set the datapad aside. Parck was watching her curiously. "I apologize, Lieutenant," she said.  
  
"No, don't worry about it," was his quick response. "It's got to be some shock to find out like that."  
  
"You didn't come here to fill in my genealogy charts, Lieutenant," she said, trying to compose herself. "What exactly do you want from me?"  
  
He smiled wryly. "To be perfectly honest, ma'am, you've already told me everything I need to know."  
  
"How is that, Lieutenant?"  
  
He stood up. "If you know nothing of your father, you can't help me. But thank you for your time."  
  
Nihre got to her feet as well. "Lieutenant, you've just answered a question I had been working on for nearly twenty years. Certainly it couldn't hurt to ask me what you came here to find out."  
  
Parck hesitated. "It would only worry you," he said finally.  
  
"I'll live with it."  
  
With a sigh, he sat back down. "All right. But what I tell you is confidential, ma'am. We'll both be in big trouble if you tell anyone."  
  
"Understood."  
  
"Recently. . .there have been rumors that Grand Admiral Thrawn may still be alive."  
  
She laughed. "Does the NI see the tabloid news? People are always claiming that. They see ghosts, too, but nobody takes that seriously."  
  
"These rumors are a tad more substantial than tabloid stories," Parck said. "At least, I assume they are. I can't imagine why I would be sent here if someone didn't take it seriously."  
  
Stunned, Nihre sank back into her chair. "But Grand Admiral Thrawn's been gone for. . . ." She tried to remember her history lessons before realizing with a jolt that her *father* had died just about the time she was born. "Twenty years," she finished. "If he's not dead, where has he been?"  
  
Parck shrugged. "That's actually what they wanted me to ask you."  
  
"And you people thought I would know something?"  
  
Again, he shrugged. "Who else would? His wife is dead. His father-in-law is dead. Pellaeon apparently doesn't know, my grandfather doesn't know—"  
  
"Your grandfather?" she asked blankly.  
  
"Voss Parck. Do you know anything about Grand Admiral Thrawn? Anything at all?"  
  
She shook her head, embarrassed. "Outside the occasional tabloid headlines, I just remember that he fought the New Republic for awhile and died. My Imperial History course was a few years back."  
  
"Oh." Parck considered, then said, "Well, his people banished him in the Unknown Regions. My grandpa was the one that found him and brought him back to the Empire. They worked together for a long time."  
  
Banished. Rescued by the Empire. Married to Mother. Married! And Grandfather had claimed ignorance for years! She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on her swirling emotions.  
  
Then, abruptly, she lifted her head again. What if he was alive? Obviously, if he was, he wouldn't be very interested in her. By Brita, he would have been alive for the last twenty years, the same twenty years she had been searching for a father, any father. But still. . .   
  
"Why has nobody spoken to me before now?" Nihre demanded. "I've spent nearly two decades wondering, and you knew all along!"  
  
"We've never really had a reason."  
  
She shook her head. "I'm just amazed. . . you would think some sort of leak would have gotten out."  
  
"No, Pellaeon's been very careful to keep it quiet," Parck said. "He doesn't want anyone pestering or harassing you."  
  
Grand Admiral Pellaeon knew about her. The thought that the leader of the Remnant not only knew of her but was protecting her made her feel dizzy. "That's. . . hard to believe," she admitted to the young man in her living room. "What does Grand Admiral Pellaeon care about the anonymous daughter of some long-dead defeated naval commander?"  
  
"He was only defeated because he was betrayed by his bodyguard," Parck said. "You should know that Grand Admiral Thrawn is acknowledged as the best tactician the Empire ever had. And if Pellaeon feels responsible for you, it's probably because your father was his mentor. Pellaeon was the captain of his flagship while Thrawn controlled the Empire."  
  
It was so hard to believe. Nihre had to fight back the urge to look at his holo again, just to make sure she hadn't been mistaken the first time. Her father. That man couldn't be her father. The Supreme Commander's mentor? A former Supreme Commander in his own right.  
  
"How could he have become a Grand Admiral?" she asked, her brow creasing. "Or a Supreme Commander, for that matter. Until recently— and not even all the time now— Imperials aren't exactly. . . tolerant of nonhumans."  
  
Parck looked sheepish. "That's true. But like I said— he was a genius. Not even Palpatine could deny it. He was the last Grand Admiral appointed by Palpatine." He smiled crookedly. "And whether we humans are racist or not, you'd never see a crew more loyal to their leader than the crews on Thrawn's ships. My grandfather still talks about him."  
  
"Does your grandfather believe he could be. . . alive?"  
  
"I assume he believes there's a chance," he said. "Otherwise, he wouldn't have had me come."  
  
"What about Pellaeon?"  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know. But this conversation here had to have his authorization, so again he must think there's some chance. But before— once a con artist had most of the Fleet convinced he was Thrawn— Pellaeon didn't buy it for a second. Grandpa says Pellaeon was on the bridge when he was attacked. Pellaeon saw him die."  
  
Nihre frowned. "So then he's dead."  
  
"If that was really him, and he really died. . . then yes, he's dead. But if there was a mistake, then maybe— probably not, but maybe— not." He looked at her closely. "A little overwhelmed?"  
  
"More than a little," Nihre admitted, leaning her head back. "But thank you. Thank you for telling me."  
  
"This is none of my business, but. . . what are you going to do now?"  
  
"What am I supposed to do? If he's alive, he wants nothing to do with me. If he's dead, he's dead. Maybe I'll send a request to Pellaeon for his medical records— my physician would like the other side of my family medical history."  
  
Parck chuckled. "If you're ever out near the Unknowns, look up my grandpa. He'd like to meet you." 


	2. Research

Nihre lay in bed, the datapad on her stomach. She stared at the file even though she had already read the entire thing a dozen times. Very little was known about his past before the Empire. Even his time in the Empire was little more than a list— a long list— of dates for battles, promotions, and assignments.  
  
It did say that Calie was his wife, and sidebar coldly noted that she was deceased. The date was off by a year— it must have been added later by a careless researcher. The only mention of Grandfather was his name as her guardian. No siblings were noted. She still had no family.  
  
Age was interesting. He had been born over eighty years earlier, but he had been in suspended animation for almost twenty years, reason unspecified. When the record had last been undated, shortly before his death, he had been at a biological age of forty. She he would be sixty now, if he survived. Chiss were a long-lived species. Sixty was roughly middle-aged. She tried to age the holo twenty years, but when she realized what she was doing, she turned it off altogether. No use speculating.   
  
He had been banished. For what? He was probably not a very nice guy, if Palpatine liked him— and from his record, Palpatine liked him a great deal. Had Mother followed him voluntarily, or was there no choice? She had been born a decade later, so she thought perhaps the relationship was not entirely involuntary. Grandfather had refused to discuss her father, but he had loved his daughter. If Thrawn had treated Mother poorly, Grandfather would have found a way to get her away. Probably.  
  
She was desperate for someone to tell her about her family. Someone who knew what had happened. All these guesses, with no solid evidence, was making her head hurt. The much she told herself it didn't matter, the more she needed to know. She had been given her answer, but it wasn't enough.  
  
But who could tell her? Not her own family. They were gone. Lieutenant Parck's grandfather had known him, but all she knew was that he was in the Unknown Regions. The Unknowns encompassed a very large territory. Her only other option was Grand Admiral Pellaeon, and what luck would she have seeing him?  
  
Putting the datapad on her nightstand, Nihre crawled under the covers and turned out the lights. Tossing and turning all night, her sleep was plagued by dreams.   
  
The next day, she sleepwalked through a lecture, then went to the library. She wanted to find a history text that mentioned Grand Admiral Thrawn. To her surprise, she found several thousand articles, exerts, and entire texts. And that was without the tabloids.  
  
She read through some of the more respectable-looking sources, trying to avoid any holos that nearby students might notice. She read through the short histories and skimmed the battle information, but most of the technical descriptions were beyond her. But she wasn't interested in his tactics— she wanted to get a sense of who he was. From the readings she had found, she suspected there were very few people that had known who he was, in the sense she wanted.  
  
About to give up, Nihre yawned and called up one last article. At first, she thought it was a mistake— it was an article for something called the Art Institute. But the words 'Grand Admiral Thrawn' caught her eye.   
  
He collected art.  
  
It hit her like a physical blow. He wasn't just some abstract Imperial officer she was calling her father. He was a person; a person that liked art.  
  
An image flashed in her mind. She had a painting hung above her bed at home. It had hung above her bed since before she could remember. It was of a valley, with mountains in the background and a rising sun. She had never given it much thought before, other than knowing she liked it. Now, she wondered if there was more to it.  
  
She quickly switched to the HoloNet, excited and a little bit nervous. It took a few minutes of searching, but she finally found a service for an art purchasing site that let one search for original works of art. She entered Valley Morn, Chassau in the title and artist fields, then waited for the search.  
  
The results finally came back. It was listed as being in a 'private collection'. There was an option for 'seller information', so she tried it.  
  
Valley Morn had been sold half a dozen times since its creation. The last time was on the very day she had been born. The buyer, listed as Mitth'raw'nuruodo, had paid half a million credits for it in a private sale.  
  
She stared at the auction date, wondering if it could be a coincidence. The painting in her room had been bought on her birthday. For her? Maybe for her mother. She shook her head slowly. Why hadn't she thought to check before? If she had just thought to wonder who had bought that painting, she could have found her father years ago.  
  
For what good it would have done. She turned off her station and got up, feeling stiff. She had sat for longer than she had thought, and she still had more questions.  
  
I want to talk to Pellaeon, she realized.  
  
It probably wasn't a good idea. Pellaeon hadn't been her father's friend— he had been his subordinate. But if he indeed had been trying to protect her, maybe he could spare a few minutes. She didn't know how to contact him to ask permission. All she could think to do was go to Bastion and hope he was there. 


	3. Pellaeon

A/N: I recently realized this may be getting into the NJO time. I'm too busy eating my french fries before they get cold to do the math right now. If there's anybody out there that's wondering where the Vong are. . . well, they all fell into the Maw. I hate the NJO. Serious. So they made the Empire and the New Republic friends and now they've got to make up some new bad guys. They've done a sucky job. (yes, I think I did just say 'sucky'. Hmm.) And nobody there put any effort whatsoever in the Chiss!!! Argh! Honestly, any monkey with a pen and a notebook could have done it.   
  
For NJO fans-- don't get too mad at me, PLEASE!! I've still read all of them but the last one (or maybe two, they come out pretty fast now) and that's only because I have to take a bus all the way across town to get to a bookstore unless I want to order them online and pay to get them shipped. I'm just bitter because they killed Thrawn off way back when. Yeah, I know, I know. That was 11 years ago. (Hey, my math skills kicked back in.) Whatever. Lucas just doesn't want to admit that Thrawn beat all those Rebels so he had to get killed off in the books.   
  
No, I'm not crazy. You can ask Thrawn. Just make it quick. I don't like to share.  
  
Anyway, onto Part III. . . . . . . . .  
  
Nihre left the commercial shuttle at the landing zone and wandered into the crowd. There were even more humans here than on Trellis. She barely noticed, though. There was a directory terminal nearby, and she waited in line to use it.  
  
To her relief, Grand Admiral Pellaeon's primary residence was listed. She made note of the address and followed the signs to the rental speeder building.  
  
Using the dashboard computer, she made her way through the busy capital city. Pellaeon's house was on the outskirts of town, naturally on the side opposite the spaceport. As she got closer, she saw that it was also the rich part of town. His estate was enclosed by a tall, wrought-iron fence that was probably backed by a force field of some sort.  
  
Hoping he would be there but not really expecting it, she drove to the gate. There was an intercom panel at the gate, and she leaned out the window to push it. A moment later, a voice said, "Pellaeon residence."  
  
"My name is Nihre," she said. "I am looking for Grand Admiral Pellaeon."  
  
"The Grand Admiral is not here," the voice said. "Is he expecting you?"  
  
"No," she admitted. "I'm not sure how to reach him. Is there any way you could tell the Grand Admiral that Nihre wants to see him, if it isn't too inconvenient. Just for a few minutes, when he has time."  
  
There was a pause, and then the man said, "Wait there, Ms. Nihre. It will be a moment."  
  
A moment turned out to be just short of an hour. But then the intercom buzzed, and the man said, "Drive to the main house and come to the door. The Grand Admiral will see you."  
  
She did as directed, parking in front of the massive house and going up the stairs. A short, portly, white-haired old man in a suit met her. "This way," he said, leading her deeper into the mansion. "The Grand Admiral will be here within the hour."  
  
"I'm not disturbing him, am I?" she asked apprehensively. "I could wait."  
  
The man offered her a dismissive smile. "If Admiral Pellaeon did not want to meet with you now, you would not be here." He brought her to a parlor and then bustled to a drink bar. "What would you like, madam?"  
  
"Oh. . . anything, thank you."  
  
He brought her a glass of rose-colored wine. "Thank you," she said again, sipping. It was easily the best wine she had ever had. "This is good."  
  
"Xiquire '47," he said, though the name meant nothing to her. With a bow, he said, "Make yourself comfortable, madam. If you need anything, simply page me on the intercom panel by the door."  
  
She nodded. "Thank you. You've been very kind."  
  
He gave her another smile, then vanished.  
  
For the next hour, Nihre wandered around the parlor, poking through the wine but drinking no more, examining the knickknacks and paintings. She was standing with her back to the door, staring at a particularly large painting when someone entered.  
  
"Ah," a new, male voice said behind her. "Nihre. Welcome."  
  
She spun around. Grand Admiral Pellaeon stood just inside the parlor, his hair the same color as his uniform. He was tall, several centimeters taller than her, and thin. Even though he was an old man, Nihre sensed that none of his wits had abandoned him yet.  
  
She had gotten an audience with the most important man in the Empire. Any possible lingering doubts about Thrawn being her father vanished. "Grand Admiral Pellaeon," she finally managed to say, feeling a little foolish but bowing anyway. "Thank you so much for seeing me."  
  
"Think nothing of it," Pellaeon said, sounding amused. "I've wanted to meet you for a good long time. Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink?"  
  
"Oh, your butler got me one already," she said, sitting down. "Thank you."  
  
Pellaeon chuckled, going to the bar. He filled himself a glass, then refilled hers, carrying them both back. "Have another," he said. "If you'd like, of course."  
  
So she sipped at it, sitting across from the Grand Admiral. "So," Pellaeon said. "You enjoy art?"  
  
She glanced at the painting. "It's an impressive piece," she said.  
  
"Your father used to say that everything one would want to know about a species could be found in their artwork."  
  
"He did?" she asked, wishing there was a better way to express her interest.  
  
Pellaeon nodded, looking almost wry. "I never caught on to that particular skill, but it worked well enough for him— he often knew more about the minds of a particular race than the members themselves did."  
  
"Just from art?"  
  
He smiled at her dubious expression. "That's how I felt. There was more to it, I'm sure— Thrawn was brilliant, after all. But he attributed his knowledge to the study of art."  
  
"He bought me a painting once, on my birthday," she said softly. She wasn't sure why she had said that, and embarrassed, she shrugged. "At least, I think it was for me."  
  
Pellaeon didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with her comment. "It was," he said. "I recall the day you were born."  
  
That was the last thing she had expected to hear. "Really?"  
  
"Certainly. Thrawn didn't show his emotion very often, but one day, he seemed to be in an unusually good mood. I made a comment in that regard, and he told me his daughter had been born. Then he showed me a holo-flat of a painting her had bought for her— for you. I forget what it was of. Mountains, I think."  
  
"And a valley, yes." She folded her hands. "Grand Admiral, I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced you by coming like this."  
  
"Not at all. I'm glad to meet you."  
  
"It's an honor to meet you, sir," she said. "I knew I shouldn't bother you for my pointless questions, but I didn't know who else I could ask."  
  
"I understand you were unaware of your parentage until a few days ago."  
  
"That's true. Lieutenant Parck caught me by surprise."  
  
Pellaeon smiled apologetically. "If I had realized, I would have made an attempt at tactfulness."  
  
"I don't think there was an easy way to learn it," she said. "I've been searching for so long, I would have been stunned no matter what the circumstances."  
  
He chuckled. "Perhaps. I hope it wasn't an unfavorable stunned."  
  
"I'm just glad to have found out who my father was." She hesitated, then said, "Is it true he might still be alive?"  
  
Pellaeon raised his white eyebrows. "What would you do if he was?"  
  
Good question. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I don't know," she admitted. "Until a moment ago, I would have said nothing. After all, it's been twenty years, and he never tried to contact me. But if you say he was. . . not unhappy, about me, then maybe. . . there could have been a reason he hasn't come. If he is alive."  
  
The Supreme Commander was watching her, as if debating something. Finally, he said, "Your father died during a battle. Stabbed in the back by a treacherous bodyguard. I was there— I heard his last words, I heard the medics pronounce him dead."  
  
Nihre swallowed. "How can there be a doubt, then?"  
  
"I was approached a week ago by a Chiss woman claiming to be a medical doctor at a cryogenics prison. According to this woman, the Chiss had bribed someone aboard the ship to drug Thrawn the night before the battle. This drug puts a person with a traumatic injury into a suspended state. They appear deathlike, or so she says. It is typically given to a victim after an injury, to keep them from dying before help can arrive. But it could be given ahead of time, if one knows ahead of time the injury would occur."  
  
"But how could the Chiss know his Noghri bodyguard would turn?"  
  
Pellaeon nodded. "You understand the situation on Honoghr that prompted Rukh's rebellion?"  
  
"I think so. Apparently, Vader, and then Thrawn, had been taking advantage of some ecological disaster to keep the natives enslaved. And he kept one as his bodyguard. One of the New Republic's people convinced them to turn against the Empire."  
  
"Succinctly stated. Yes, that is correct."  
  
"The Chiss must have known about that," she said. "Did they tip off the Noghri on your ship?"  
  
Pellaeon smiled. "That's what my source claims. Now, Thrawn had left orders that should he die, his body should be sent to his wife on Trellis immediately. However, the woman arrived before we could send it. The source suggests this woman was not the intended recipient. Furthermore, she says this woman put him in suspension and returned him to his homeworld at the order of the leader of one of the ruling families."  
  
"I thought he had been banished."  
  
"Yes. Apparently, this ruler didn't feel his role in the Empire was suitable punishment for whatever he'd done. The source says he was healed and then placed in a cryogenic prison for dangerous criminals, people they don't trust to interact in society."  
  
"Oh," she said, exhaling. "Lovely."  
  
"If it's true, it's completely unjustified," Pellaeon said. "Anyway, he's theoretically still in this cryo-prison— which is actually located on a nearby colony. A well-populated Chiss colony that discourages alien visitors. We're having some difficulty finding a way to ascertain whether this is, in fact, true."  
  
Nihre nodded slowly. "Understandable."  
  
"The leaders are not acknowledging my requests to speak," Pellaeon went on. "I'm starting to suspect that this may be the truth."  
  
"Why would that woman tell you the truth?"  
  
"She says she was a friend of Thrawn's, before he was sent away. She works at the cryo-prison, and when she found him there, she wanted to help."  
  
An idea was forming, but Nihre wasn't sure if she should even consider it. A Chiss could probably get onto that colony easily enough, and she did speak the language. But did she dare risk sneaking around in something so potentially dangerous, for a man she didn't even know? Didn't even know survived?  
  
She could tell Pellaeon was thinking nearly identical thoughts. He said nothing, though. Finally, with a sigh, she said, "Maybe if I just go find that doctor, she can prove it one way or the other."  
  
"That's a start, at least," Pellaeon said, more wary than she had anticipated. "But I don't think you should go personally."  
  
"Why not?" she asked, her eyebrows going up in surprise.  
  
Pellaeon shook his head slowly. "You're not a spy. You'd be at considerable risk. And for what? If, by some miracle, he is alive, you can't rescue him. And if he is alive, I doubt he would approve of his daughter being at risk."  
  
She snorted derisively, not at Pellaeon but at the idea of being in danger. "What are they going to do, sir? Banish me?"  
  
A tiny smile ticked at his lips, but he wasn't quite willing to let it out. "We know very little about the Chiss, Nihre, and I doubt you know much more. We don't know who might have done this, and they very well might be dangerous."  
  
"I suppose that's true." She was silent a moment, then said, "Even so. I don't know any Chiss, and I feel fairly confident assuming you don't, either. Somebody has to find out, and I'm the only option."  
  
Pellaeon was watching her closely. "Are you sure he does not perhaps belong where he is?"  
  
That stopped her for a moment. Was it possible the Empire didn't want Thrawn back? Perhaps— if he was brilliant, after all, he would be competition to Pellaeon. Not only that, what if he decided to join Ralborn, instead? That seemed unlikely, seeing Ralborn's racist doctrine, but he had joined Palpatine. And just what had he done for the Chiss to justify banishment and cryo-imprisonment?   
  
She pursed her lips slightly, then said, "Yes. I'm quite certain he does not belong there."  
  
"Really." Pellaeon cocked his head with interest. "May I ask why?"  
  
"My grandfather always felt I was too human," she said. "He was constantly telling me how the Chiss would behave. And Chiss on a legitimate mission would never have acted with such subterfuge— not without first requesting his voluntary surrender. It's dishonorable."  
  
The Grand Admiral looked skeptical. "Perhaps they did. He never would have agreed."  
  
"You were his captain. You would have been notified of his criminal status, and the warrant for his capture. But you weren't."  
  
The human considered a moment, then said, "If you are correct, and it was not a legitimate arrest, then our contact lied."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She told us they were sent by a leader of the people."  
  
Nihre smiled, somewhat crookedly. "Oh, come on. Orders are not necessarily legitimate just because they come from a person in authority. If I have to guess, I would say that someone had a personal vendetta against Thrawn. Not a legal one."  
  
"I agree." Pellaeon let out a breath. "Nihre, I'm very tempted to agree to this. But I'm still uneasy. For this to be true, it is a carefully guarded conspiracy. Yet she knows more than she should. How could someone who accidently stumbled across his body find out how he came to be kidnapped?"  
  
"It's not a very logical trap," she said, staring blankly into space as she thought. "It's far too obvious. How could they be sure you even wanted him back? If I were you, I might not. You don't even have an effective way of checking it out, let alone walking into a trap."  
  
"Unless it's you they're after."  
  
"And what possible use would I be? If they were after me, there are easier, more certain ways to go about it. And. . . what would they want with me, anyway? It doesn't makes sense."  
  
He nodded in agreement. "Which leaves me at the point I've been stuck at for some time. It doesn't make sense as a lie. It doesn't make sense as truth. I have to assume there is something else going on beneath the surface. And unfortunately, such things are rarely beneficial for the people being manipulated."  
  
She found herself staring at the painting on the wall. If he was alive. . . frozen. . . cryo-prison didn't really seem like such a bad punishment, she thought to herself. Better than a real prison. At least you didn't know you were locked up. No scary neighbors. If the Chiss were petty enough to want him punished more, you wouldn't expect them to put him into oblivion—  
  
Her spine stiffened in surprise. "Dark Sith," she said before she could compose herself.  
  
Pellaeon looked startled. "What is it, Nihre?"  
  
"He is alive," she said, almost under her breath.  
  
Now he looked more than just startled. His jaw slightly agape, he said, "No offense intended, but I doubt—"  
  
"He is," she said, more firmly. "I guarantee it. My mother was dead by the time he was killed. I spent time researching before I came here."  
  
For a brief moment, he looked puzzled. Then understand flashed onto his face. "The woman that came for his body. . . ."  
  
"Really wasn't the woman he had requested." She felt an excited tingle in her stomach. "The official record has the wrong date of death for her— it says she died after the assassination. But she didn't."  
  
Pellaeon had the same look of cautious excitement. "Then there may be a conspiracy. But the doctor may be a part of it. How else could she know?"  
  
This what had sparked her epiphany. "I was thinking about cryo-prison," she said slowly. "If they had dragged him there as a punishment, you would think they would want to punish him. Frozen, he doesn't even know he's being punished."  
  
"I'm sure they were worried about keeping him hidden."  
  
"Sure. But that doesn't mean they don't wake them up, once in awhile. Just to remind them who controlled their fate. What else would a doctor be needed for, anyway, if they're weren't woken up?"  
  
Pellaeon looked surprised. "Interesting."  
  
"And if someone he knew managed to see him while he was awake, he would have tried to slip her a message, wouldn't he? I don't think he's the type of man that wants to be kept in cryogenic prison forever, whether he feels the time or not."  
  
"I think you're right on that count. And if you don't mind me saying. . .you remind me a great deal of him."  
  
"What do you say, Admiral? Do you think I should go now?"  
  
The old human nodded slowly. "Will you at least speak to a few professionals, first?" 


	4. Rescue

A/n: Yeah, I like the other one better too, actually. That's probably why Favors is finished and this one's not. Oh, well. What can you do?  
  
Nihre couldn't remember a time when she had felt more nervous. Public speaking usually twisted her stomach, but this was on a completely different level. She was an outsider on a foreign world, filled with her people— a people she had seen only one example of outside herself. She spoke to nobody, when she could get away with it, afraid her accent would tell people she didn't belong here.  
  
Worse than that, she knew that whoever had done this could and would crush her if they found out what she was doing. She was out of her element here, and her brief instruction from a combat trainer and two different Imperial Intelligence agents only reinforced that belief. She was treading on very dangerous ground here, and she would have to be very cautious.  
  
The Force only knew what she would do if and when she actually found him. 'Him' was how she considered the man— if she thought about rescuing her father, the nervous sensation started moving out of her stomach and into the rest of her body. Thinking of him as a Grand Admiral instead only made it worse. Who was she to go against people that had subdued Grand Admiral Thrawn?  
  
She pushed the thought away, watching the city outside go by through the window of her automated transport. Soon, she saw a tall, gray building rising in the distance. She felt a cold sensation running up her spine. Sure enough, the transport stopped there.  
  
Fumbling with the money she had gotten on Atochi, she deposited the appropriate bills in slot and climbed out. The sign out front the building was written in Chissi script. She was fluent in the language, and equally so in writing. Grandfather had known little Basic or Aurebesh, and she had been forced to communicate with him in Cheunh. Thank the Force for that.  
  
The sign said Ben'tosh Correctional Facility. There was no mention of cryogenics, but this was the place Pellaeon had told her to go. She went up the desk into the coldly undecorated lobby. It was devoid of life.  
  
She would be met. The doctor had to keep her promise. Nihre stood stiffly, hoping it was no trap after all.  
  
Several minutes later, a door in the back opened, and a tall, slender Chiss woman stepped into the lobby. She was dressed in a utilitarian gray jumpsuit, her jet-black hair pulled back into a severe bun. When she saw Nihre, her step faltered, just slightly.  
  
When the woman stopped in front of her, she said, "Nihre. I am Jilu. Come with me."  
  
More nervous than ever, Nihre followed the woman through the back door and down a flight of stairs. As they walked, Jilu addressed her.  
  
"He told me he was sending a Chiss, but he never mentioned you were Thrawn's daughter."  
  
Nihre was taken by surprise. "You can tell?"  
  
"Of course." Jilu's piercing red eyes studied her a moment, and then she nodded. "It is fitting." She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her way blocked by a heavy, metal blast door. She palmed the controls, and it hissed open. "I switched his chamber with that of a prisoner scheduled to wake today."  
  
They went through a narrow hall and entered a cold, dim room with a distinctly sterile feel to it. A cryogenics pod was laying on a table in the center of the room, the top retracted. It appeared to have gone through most of its thawing process already.  
  
The man inside was clearly visible, his blue skin the precise shade as her own. His eyes were closed, but he appeared to be breathing slowly. Her own breath caught. She recognized the impassive face from holos she had seen, and her own mirror. Her father.  
  
"When he wakes, he will suffer from the freezing sickness," Jilu said. "He will be weak and unable to see, along with other minor symptoms. It will last for at least two days."  
  
Nihre knew from experience that two days to a Chiss was closer to four days to a human. She was struck by sudden uncertainly. How was she supposed to smuggle a sick fugitive off the planet?  
  
As if reading her mind, Jilu said, "The man that is due to be thawed today is scheduled for rehabilitation. A transport chair and suitable clothing will be provided. He will not be expected at the clinic for several days, when he has recovered, but you will do well do disappear before then."  
  
"What if somebody here notices me leaving with him?"  
  
"Few are working today— that is why I specified today for your trip. Nobody here will pay you any attention if they see you."  
  
A beep from the cryo-pod diverted her attention. She bustled around the body, leaving Nihre to watch and stay out of the way.  
  
When the man in the pod gasped for air and lifted his head, Jilu leaned forward. "Thrawn, my friend," she said with surprising warmth in her voice. "The Imperials want you back."  
  
He took another deep breath, his red eyes staring blindly. "Jilu? Is that you?"  
  
"It is," she said, taking his arm and helping him to sit up. "The Imperials have sent someone to take you back."  
  
The naked man sat up, shivering in the cold. Jilu tapped a button, and the entire table lowered toward the ground. "Did you hear me, Thrawn?" she asked gently. "Someone is here for you."  
  
"All right," he said. His voice was slightly raspy, as if he had a cold.  
  
Jilu turned back to Nihre. "The thawing process is disorienting for everyone. His wits will return."  
  
Nihre nodded, but she was still staring at the man in amazement. A long-dead Imperial Grand Admiral, her father, was sitting not three meters away. Very much alive. He was taller than she was, she noted, promptly stepping forward when Jilu had trouble getting him on his feet. He was exceptionally fit, with a musculature any man half his age would be jealous of. And heavy, she thought as Jilu transferred his weight to her in order to retrieve the clothing from a storage unit.  
  
He was dazed and weak, but not completely useless. Once Jilu got him to understand what the clothing was for, he dressed himself without assistance, leaning against Nihre for support. Jilu brought around a hover chair and eased it behind him. "Sit," she said.  
  
The man sat. The chair bobbed under his weight, then stabilized. Jilu took the handles and began pushing him. Nihre scrambled to open the door.  
  
The stairs would have been a challenge for Nihre, but Jilu expertly maneuvered the chair up the incline. Once in the lobby, she stepped away. "Will you have money for a cab?" Jilu asked.  
  
Nihre nodded. "Yes, thank you."  
  
"Very well. Good luck."  
  
"You should come, too," Nihre said. "When they find out what happened—"  
  
Jilu waved her concern away. "I have a plan. Do not worry. Good day, Nihre."  
  
"Thank you, Jilu."  
  
Nihre pushed the hover chair over a block away from the prison before summoning a cab. "Come, get in the transport," she coaxed, as if she was talking to a young child. She took his arm, and he lurched to his feet. She wedged the chair into the storage trunk, then climbed in beside the disoriented man.  
  
He said nothing during the ride, though he seemed to be growing more alert. By the time she had paid the automated cab and retrieved the chair, she was positive he was aware of his surroundings, blind or not.  
  
He climbed out of transport without being told, using her arm for support and guidance. He sat down, and Nihre began pushing again. She wanted desperately to say something, but there were too many people around. And even if there weren't. . . she wasn't sure what she should say.  
  
"Where are you taking me?"  
  
Nihre was relieved for the chance to break the silence. "To the spaceport," she said. "We have a ship to catch."  
  
"Destination?"  
  
"Atochi."  
  
He nodded, either in approval or mere acceptance, she couldn't tell. Atochi was on the edge of Chiss territory, bordering on the Empire. There, money could be exchanged, and she could meet the Imperials. "How long was I in there?" he asked, his voice lower than before, as if avoiding eavesdroppers. "They never told me."  
  
There was nobody close enough to hear his whisper. She hesitated, then said, "Twenty standard years."  
  
The set of his shoulders seemed resigned, as if he had hoped for better but knew it could have been worse. "Did I hear correctly?" he asked in Basic. "You work for the Empire?"  
  
"Well, not exactly," she said in her more proficient language. "But don't worry. Grand Admiral Pellaeon did plan this. There's just a limited number of Chiss to do the job. So I volunteered."  
  
"Grand Admiral," Thrawn repeated, sounding somewhat pleased, but not surprised. "I expected as much."  
  
Nihre noticed a group approaching in the opposite direction, so she switched promptly back to Cheunh. "People are coming," she said, very softly.   
  
He didn't answer.  
  
Nihre managed to wind through the spaceport, finding the correct landing zone and even managing to board the ship with no trouble. She took him to their private cabin, used a bug-sweeping device Imperial Intelligence had supplied, and then turned on a sound damper to prevent their speech from being audible through the walls, even with an amplifier. Pellaeon wanted no chances taken. Neither did she.  
  
"It's safe to talk," she said.  
  
He used the controls to turn the chair to face her, his blind eyes turning to stare in the direction of her voice. "Who are you?" he demanded sharply.   
  
She was caught by surprise at his first choice of questions, and his tone. How could she answer that? Thrawn, his expression hard, said, "Well?"  
  
Stomach clenching nervously, she wiped her palms on her thighs. "My name. . .is Nihre," she said, wincing at her own timidity.  
  
"Nihre." His eyes narrowed, as if straining to see her. "My daughter's name is Nihre."  
  
He remembered her. Blinking back tears, she said, "I know."  
  
"Twenty years," he said, his voice starting to sound hoarse again. "Vek'ner. Just a few days ago you were a baby, Nihre. Calie—" He swallowed back the rest of his sentence, trying to mask a grimace of pain. If Nihre hadn't been so good at seeing her grandfather's subtle expressions, she might have missed it entirely.  
  
She realized with a start that not only did it feel to him like his daughter was still brand-new, his wife had died mere months ago. She had no idea what to say.  
  
Tentatively, she put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Father," she said softly.  
  
His head jerked at the last word, as if 'Father' was the last thing he had ever expected to hear. "Twenty years have gone by since I last saw you," he said, reaching for her hand. "How can you think to call me that, Nihre?"  
  
It hurt him to say it; she could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way he squeezed her hand. "What else would I call you?" she asked, gripping his hand back. "You're my father."  
  
He smiled. "How long do we have, Nihre?"  
  
She glanced at the room's chrono. Another hour before liftoff, six more for the brief trip to Atochi. "Just over seven hours," she said."Our flight is going to Atochi. The Chimaera is meeting us there."  
  
"Pellaeon still uses the Chimaera?"  
  
"He does."  
  
Thrawn was silent for a moment. Then, with a nod, he said, "Perhaps you'd better tell me what's happened these last twenty years."  
  
"Perhaps. It would probably take seven hours, at that."  
  
"But first, tell me about you," he said, releasing her hand. "I want to know what your life has been like."  
  
"Well," she said, pulling over a chair and sitting down. "I go to the University on Trellis. I lived on Trellis with my grandfather all my life, until I was seventeen. He taught me Cheunh because he didn't like Basic. He could speak it well enough, if he had to, but he always insisted on Cheunh. He said my accent was atrocious, and now that I can hear other people speak, I suppose he was right."  
  
Thrawn shook his head. "Your accent is lovely, my dear."  
  
"Thank you," she said, her cheeks heating slightly. "But it's more than just my accent. Grandfather always told me that I was more human than Chiss. Jilu is the first Chiss I've ever met, other than Grandfather. I don't know what you expect, but. . . I thought I should warn you."  
  
To her surprise, he laughed. "Nihre, Rosh was not a bad man, but he was terribly close-minded. In fact, he accused me of being 'too human' myself on numerous occasions. It's not such a bad thing."  
  
"I know," she said, feeling a wave of relief. "I just wasn't sure if you did."  
  
"What happened Rosh? He's dead, you're implying."  
  
"Yes. A speeder accident three years ago."  
  
"I see. I'm sorry."  
  
She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. "He never told me about you," she said, surprised to feel a fierce flash of anger. "When I was younger, I would ask him about my father. He said he didn't know who my father was. When I got a little older, I tried my official birth records, but it wasn't there, either. I tried other things, but I never could figure it out. Her record never said she was married. I thought that if Grandfather didn't know and Mother never said anything, maybe she didn't know, either. Grandfather was always discouraging me from searching for you." She bit her lip. "Then, not so long ago, a fellow named Lieutenant Parck came to my apartment. Apparently you knew his grandfather."  
  
"Voss Parck?"  
  
"Yes. He was sent by Naval Intelligence to see if I knew anything about you being alive. They knew about me from your file, which I had been unauthorized to see, if I had ever thought to look at it. He told me about you, and that maybe you were alive. So I went to see Grand Admiral Pellaeon. He didn't want me to come here because he thought it would be dangerous, but there was nobody else to do it. So here I am."  
  
Thrawn ran a hand through his hair, then said, "You didn't even know if I was alive? What possessed you to do something like this? You could have gotten hurt."  
  
"I did know you were alive, but I would have come even if I wasn't sure. You were kidnapped, not arrested. The idea of being frozen like that— not alive and not dead— indefinitely. . . I would hate it. I couldn't just leave you like that."  
  
His eyes were on her, and she could have sworn that he was looking at her. "You sound like your mother," he said after a long pause. "She could have stayed on Csillia. It would have been better for her, I think. But she followed me."  
  
"And Grandfather?"  
  
"Rosh knew she would have trouble making her way through the galaxy to find me. When he couldn't change her mind, he went with her. His wife was dead— Calie was all he had. I was away on my ships more often than I wasn't, and he took care of her."  
  
He swallowed. "I loved her, Nihre. But the Empire had saved my life. I had nowhere else to go. And it was where I belonged. Calie understood, and she loved me anyway. Rosh didn't, and he hated me for hurting his daughter. I never blamed him. I hated myself for doing it." He leaned forward slightly. "You wanted to warn me about my expectations. Well, let me warn you about yours. It was fortunate I missed your childhood; otherwise, I suspect you would detest me as much as your grandfather did. I was not a good husband, and can't be the kind of father you want, no matter how much I want to please you. "  
  
"The only thing I wanted was to confirm that I actually had a father," she said. "I know you're a Grand Admiral and as soon as we dock with the Chimaera, you'll be too busy to bother with me. I don't expect you to. We're strangers; we just happen to share some genes." She was glad he couldn't see her struggling with tears again. Her voice sounded calm, thankfully. "I'm glad I could help you, and I'm glad that you're alive. I don't hold you to anything— that's not why I'm here."  
  
Thrawn raised his eyebrows. "You don't want a father?"  
  
"I found my father. I'm satisfied."  
  
With a sigh, he said, "You're too much like your mother for your own good. Don't hurt yourself for my sake, Nihre. Please."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nihre. . . you didn't search for so long just for a name. You wanted a father. If he was dead, you would settle for a bio and your imagination. But your father is alive. Don't abandon your own wishes to spare me."  
  
She frowned. "You just told me you weren't going to be my father. Are you trying to make me feel worse? I really don't understand."  
  
"I said I can't be the father you want," he replied. "Like you said— I'll probably be distracted. But I do swear I'll try. I should have tried harder with Calie, and now it's too late. I learn from my mistakes." He rubbed his face. "I don't want to hurt you, Nihre."  
  
On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad I found you." 


	5. Return

a/n: Yes, it's short. It's also the last of what's been pre-written for this one. I'm trying my best to find somewhere interesting for the plot to go. I've got vague ideas about elaborating on that split in the Empire (it's there. i know i mentioned it. i'm POSITIVE). maybe I'll have them go after those f-ing Rebels, too. . . yes, I'm an Imperial. So sue me. I never blew up your planet. Or maybe I'll have them cooperate with the New Republic to take on the *bad* Imps. Hard to say. All I promise is that no character will, at any time, in any manner whatsoever, ingest any popcorn. Period.  
  
The commercial ship let an Imperial shuttle dock. Thrawn, however, refused to meet it in a hover chair. He walked steadily, though slowly, with his hand on her arm to guide him. Two Imperial stormtroopers stood at the entrance to the docking tube, and at the sight of Thrawn, they both stiffened and shifted their rifles to their shoulders.  
  
Thrawn heard the clinks of the rifles on armor and nodded. Nihre felt a momentary thrill. They were really welcoming him back. She was proud to be his daughter. "Docking gate," she whispered. "There's a step."  
  
He stepped up into the dim airlock and crossed to the shuttle's hatch. The hatch opened at their approach. He automatically stepped over the threshold into the shuttle. He leaned closer and murmured, "Did it just get brighter?"  
  
"Yes." His sight was returning more quickly than she had anticipated. Good. Maybe it wouldn't take four days.  
  
There were more stormtroopers in here— she counted four— along with, to her surprise, Lieutenant Parck. The two stormtroopers from outside followed them in, and the hatch hissed closed.  
  
Everyone was staring, even the stormtroopers. Lieutenant Parck quickly stepped up to take over. He flashed her a quick smile on his way up, all business by the time he stopped in front of Thrawn, saluting sharply.  
  
Thrawn looked toward him, though his eyes missed slightly. "At ease," Thrawn said. "Forgive me, but I haven't quite recovered from being frozen. I cannot see yet."  
  
"Yes, sir. Grand Admiral Thrawn, I am First Lieutenant Vik Parck with Remnant Naval Intelligence. Grand Admiral Pellaeon asked that I escort you back to the Chimaera, sir."  
  
Thrawn nodded. "Very well. You know my daughter Nihre, I believe?"  
  
Parck smiled at her again, bowing in her direction. "A pleasure to see you again, madam."  
  
"Likewise, Lieutenant."  
  
Turning back to Thrawn, Parck said, "Sir, with your permission, I will take us back to the Chimaera."  
  
Thrawn nodded. "We'll join you."  
  
Parck looked pleased, though he hid it fairly well. He led them into the empty cockpit and took the pilot's seat, nodding toward the copilot's seat. Nihre led her father there, then took the passenger seat behind the two men.  
  
Clearing his throat, Parck looked like he wanted to say something. Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Lieutenant?"  
  
"I just want to say, sir, what an honor it is for me to meet you. The Fleet is elated by the news of your survival."  
  
Without waiting for a response, Parck started the undocking procedures. "How is your grandfather?" Thrawn asked once they were away in space.  
  
"He's doing well, sir," Parck said. "In fact, I believe he's coming to see you within the next few days." 


	6. Ralborn's Empire

A/N Owlet: fluffy, huh?? lol. yeah, ok, no argument. i'm just having some fun. i like fluff and I like Thrawn, so . . .voila! Anyway, dunno if you're going to see this, just thought I'd say it. Your portrayal of Thrawn was closer to the books than I am with Favors, but. . . what can you do? : D I do love how he swooped to the rescue.  
  
OK, folks, I'm posting again! Slowly but surely. I know this is a shortie. I've got another chap started. Sorry to everyone who's been after me for more! I'm not ignoring you!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"This is unbelievable," Grand Admiral Avery Bradford spat, stalking through the chamber. "We are not fighting that– that red-eyed *freak*."  
  
Sitting in an overstuffed armchair, Everett Ralborn watched his Supreme Commander. His lips were thin beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. "You're not instilling me with a great deal of confidence, Avery," he said coolly. "Sit down. Now."  
  
The tall, gaunt human stopped, his eyes still flashing. "I went to the Academy with–"  
  
"Sit *down*."  
  
Finally, Bradford dropped into a chair. "Listen," the Grand Admiral said, leaning forward impatiently. "He must be eliminated. Now."  
  
"Can't compete with the alien, Avery?"  
  
Bradford's face went as red as his hair. "Damn it, Everett– I don't care what he is. But he's dangerous."  
  
"So I recall." He shifted in his chair, looking back at the man in the corner. "Meet Agent Valner, Avery."  
  
Kyr Valner did not move. Avery Bradford was a genius in battle, perhaps, but he was still a petulant child. What had possessed Emperor Ralborn to name him Supreme Commander was beyond him.  
  
Bradford eyed Valner uneasily, then said, "Who is he?"  
  
"Who is he?" Ralborn smiled coolly. "He is going to deal with Grand Admiral Thrawn for us."  
  
The Grand Admiral snorted. "Him? All by himself? Good luck."  
  
Ralborn settled further into his chair, then nodded toward Bradford. Valnor crossed the room in a second, his hand sliding to his belt, grasping the cool metal cylinder hanging there. Before Bradford could so much as twitch, the indigo lightsaber was ignited. The tip paused, just millimeters from the Grand Admiral's throat.  
  
"All by myself, Admiral," Valner said softly, just over the hum of his lightsaber. "He will be no threat to you."  
  
There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of the lightsaber. "That's enough, Valner," Ralborn said finally.  
  
The indigo blade vanished, and Valner stepped back. Bradford's face had gone a sickly white color.  
  
"I doubt it," the Grand Admiral said shortly, standing up. "Excuse me. I have work to do."  
  
As soon as Bradford vanished, Ralborn said, "Go do it." 


End file.
